


Writer's Block

by thedorkyastra



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Married Life, Other, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 16:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19749433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedorkyastra/pseuds/thedorkyastra
Summary: Elliot is struggling with writing his new book and leans on the farmer for support.





	Writer's Block

Elliot knew that he was a good writer, he had to be. The sales on his first book undeniably proved that he had the talent and there was a considerable chunk of good reviews that had him slowly, but surely, gaining some attention from the public. It was doing well enough that his publisher had asked for a sequel to his mystery novel, but every time Elliot tried to think up what new adventure Detective Lu would be going on… he came up short. He longed for the fervor in which he had written the first one, how the scenes seemed to grab him and take him away into this dystopian world that was unfolding before him. But instead, he had been trapped within side the very first chapter, rewriting it over and over again trying to perfect each character’s interaction and all of the damn dialogue that felt stilted and unnatural. He refused to say that he had writer’s block- how could Elliot when he was surrounded by all this natural beauty? All of the greats had written their masterpieces in small towns like this… so why couldn’t he?

Elliot looked around his writer’s nook and frowned- he was starting to feel as though he had all the appearance of a writer but lacked any reality to back this claim up. He’d been married to his dear farmer for six months now, and he had finalized all his little personal touches to the home. His Victorian writing desk custom made from Robin was made of beautiful mahogany and was inlaid with precious metals his spouse had mined themself. His library took up most of one of the walls of his writer’s nook and was filled with weathered old books he had purchased from a rare book store in the city. He had books dating all the way back to the 1800s that he would take to his garden at the back of the house and read for hours, but never be any closer to writing a second chapter. 

Elliot groaned loudly and buried his hands in his face- what was it that he was missing? He could feel the story in him waiting to be written, but what kind of story was it really? He wished he had Detective Lu’s golden key to unlock the secrets of his own psyche, but alas, he was a real person trying to solve real problems. 

Then there were firm, warm hands on his shoulder and a gentle kiss on the back of his head, and he turned to see his darling spouse with a face covered in dirt smiling down at him. Their scent embraced him, and he was surrounded by the smells of the earth, honey with a sweet rosy undertone, and fire. Their overalls were stained with grass, mud, and black soot and their eyes were bagged with fatigue, but when they spoke, he could not find the slightest hint of it in their voice so full of love and excitement. “How’s your writing going, darling? Has the detective finally settled on what case he wants to crack? I liked the sound of the one with the missing daughter.”

Elliot sighed and looked at the inked book with disdain, “It was too reminiscent of City of Angels for my liking and the twist of much too obvious. No, unfortunately, the detective continues to evade me... “ He rubbed his eyes and leaned into his spouse’s touch, “This story is taunting me, laughing, jeering, and hurling insults. Everything I write is so... “ He then said in a quiet voice, “Unfulfilling. I think that’s the most frightening thing about it all. I’m beginning to think that may not be…” He looked up at his darling spouse with teary eyes, “I’m afraid, dearest, that maybe that I’m not the writer I thought I was… that you thought I was.” 

The farmer’s face was beautifully crestfallen, face lit by the oil lamp on his desk, and the flame flickering in their eyes. Their expression was so honest and there voice filled with such heartfelt love as they turned his chair to face them and held his face in their hands, “Honey, you or writing could never  _ never  _ disappoint me.”

The farmer’s voice, while so quiet, was so fierce Elliot found himself lost in their words as they spoke, “I may have a bias, but at your reading last year I was so wrapped up in your novel that I went home that night and couldn’t sleep thinking about what you had written. I kept thinking about what would happen next, what the characters looked like, and replaying my favorite scenes in my head like a movie I couldn’t turn off! Whatever you write next, whether or not it’s a mystery, I’ll love it.” They huffed in determined finality, opening no room for argument and stroked his cheek tenderly as the tears welling in his eyes threatened to overflow. 

Their support sent relief washing over him like a warm bath, and when the damn broke, he couldn’t stop it. He had never known the safety of unconditional love, and the peace it brought was overwhelming. He looked forward to the day that he could be used to this- to the security of the farm and his spouse’s adoration. He nuzzled their hand and kissed it, “Thank you, love. It’s comforting to know I already have a number one fan.” 

Their face melted into a soft smile again and said shyly, “Of course. No matter how long it takes for you to write your next novel, I’ll be here waiting.” They chuckled and ran their other hand through his long hair, “Don’t you remember what I said on our wedding day? If you are not too long,”

Elliot sighed contently, closed his eyes to relish in their sweet touch, and finished the quote in a whisper, “I will wait here for you all my life. Oscar Wilde.” He chuckled and opened his eyes lazily, “When you got up there and quoted one of my favorite authors, you made me weak in the knees with surprise, I must have looked like a gaping fool. Yet all I could think about was that I was going to have the honor of spending the rest of my life with you.” He relished in the hot blush that rose on their cheeks and took the embroidered handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the grime, “We hadn’t even said I do, and I wanted to marry you all over again.” 

The air was a thick, yet calm silence between the two of them as Elliot cleaned his spouse’s face, and they kept their eyes keenly on him. Outside the crickets chirped, the fall breeze whispered, and the river burbled in a wistful cacophony. Then their eyes met, and Elliot caressed their face and pulled them in for long, and deep kiss that left them both short of breath. This, this moment was something he never wanted to forget, and all the quiet, scared ones that came before and after it. In the morning, as they worked around each other to make breakfast for the day, the old oak floorboards creaking beneath their feet. In the afternoon, when they went to the forest and had lunch together, the birds singing and the rustling of trees rocking them to sleep for an afternoon nap. In the evening when they were both so tired and would collapse into each other’s arms after a long day, look into each other’s eyes, and feel at home. This… these were moments worth writing about- the reality of love and life that made every day worthwhile. That made struggles mean something. 

Elliot broke out in a wide grin and held their face in his hands, “That’s it! I know what this story needs- what I’ve always wanted.” 

The farmer smiled amused and peered over his shoulder as their husband went to work, “And what’s that, my love?” 

He turned back to them with glittering eyes and said with awe-struck wonder, “You.” 


End file.
